


Hungry like the Wayward Sons; a Grimm Tale.

by Messypeaches



Category: Grimm (TV), Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crack Fic, Crossover, F/M, Fix-it fic, Gay, Gen, M/M, Multi, WIP, sex is had and talked about, straight - Freeform, supergrimmwolf, too much plot, violence happens
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-22
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-06 03:47:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/731130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Messypeaches/pseuds/Messypeaches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick investigates the weird. Beacon Hills is pretty damn weird, but out of his jurisdiction. Good thing he's got all this medical leave. So with werewolf buddy Monroe reluctantly in tow, he's off to solve a mystery with a Broken arm.</p><p>Meanwhile, there's an Impala with a pair of confused Wnchesters wondering why the hell everyone is so excited about Lacrosse, where the hell they are, and why the local hunters don't seem to think there's much of a werewolf problem.</p><p>And if that wasn't enough headache for Stiles, Scott and Derek, there's still the little matter of the alpha pack to get ready for.</p><p> </p><p>Alternative titles were:</p><p>Carry on my Wolf,<br/> Got the Gas Pedal Leaned Back, Taking My Time,<br/>SuperGrimmWolf,<br/>and Highway to the DangerZone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Everyone Starts out Confused.

**Author's Note:**

> It started with 'First Aid'.
> 
> In fact the scene that makes up ALL of first aid is in here. Sorry if that's confusing. 
> 
> Need's a Beta-Reader, I know. I do my best but I don't see my own typos.
> 
> Hopefully you won't need more than a skim of the wiki pages to understand enough about Grimm, Nick and Monroe to be able to go with it.

"Look, I know it's way out of our area," Hank held out the paper. "But I think it's still up your alley. Since you're on leave anyway."

Nick took the newspaper with his left hand. The right was still in a cast, but at least the sling was gone. Skimmed it. looked up. "It's in California. That's not my beat, exactly, Hank."

"Yeah but it's weird."

"Where did you even find this?"

"Hey, man, I refuse to believe Portland's the only place these wesen show up, alright?" Hank said. "I've been looking at case files with keywords like 'animal attack' and conflicting witness statements', things like that. And I think something weird's happening in California."

Nick looked at the news paper, and then the tagged case files. 

"Wait, the gutted woman was wanted for questioning involving an old arson case?" Nick said, in spite of himself. "Huh."

"Yeah, huh."

"... I guess I have time," Nick said.

"Plus I'm tired of you calling me every two hours to see what's going on," Hank said. "Now when you call every two hours you'll at least have a reason."

"Beacon hills, huh?"

"The sheriff's name is Stilinski," Hank said. 

"Huh," Nick looked distracted now.

 _Thank god,_ thought Hank.  
********

"This is not California."

"We just got off the 101," Sam said, looking at a map. "Like two hours ago. We could see the coast, Dean."

"Don't give a crap, Sammy. This is not California," Dean slapped his hand on the top of the Impala. "This is not California, this is not a California forest, and I think we passed a   
Waffle house. We're way southeast of California."

"This town's on the map, the map says California," Sam said but he sounded... Doubtful. "I... Why are we in California?"

"Like I said. we're not," Dean said. "We are not in California. Look, we're gonna go back to the Waffle House-"

"No I mean the last thing.. Weren't we somewhere in North Dakota?"

"No, we were heading to California to see about a chupacabra," Dean said. Then paused. "Weren't we?"

"No, no, it was one of the Dakota's, we were going to..." Sam trailed off. "It was important. We were going to... Get.. you out of... Somewhere..." He trailed off, looking at Dean. "But I decided to stop because there was a wendingo and, you know, can't drive past people in trouble."

"In midwinter? You decided to fight a wendingo then?"

"It's like, June," Sam said, then scowled. "Let's go to the Waffle house and get a newspaper."

"Yeah. Let's."  
*******

 

The newspaper and the waitress both said this was, in fact, California.

The waitress didn't give them much of a funny look though. "You're not too far from the border, honey," she said, smiling at Sam. "It's not a weird question at all. Where are you heading?"

"We're not sure yet," Dean said, smiling at her.

"Aw, how romantic," she said, strutting off.

"We're not-" Dean started. 

"Just let it go," Sam said. "Anything in the paper?"

Dean shrugged, flipping the page. Frowning. "The.. The Superbowl is on page two of the sports section. Wanna take a guess at what's on page one?"

"…Someone died at the Superbowl?" Sam said after a moment.

"National. Lacrosse. Playoffs," Dean said. "What the hell." he flipped through it. "And College lacrosse. It's all, lacrosse and soccer and water polo, and… Seriously… It's like…" He looked up, and held out the newspaper. "You wanna explain this?"

"Dean I don't know what's," Sam started, and then jumped when Castiel reached out and took the sports section. "Ring a bell or something would you?"

"You get used to it," Dean said, looking for the obituaries. "Gonna tell us why it's bizzaro world?"

Castiel was examining the paper, eventually getting it right side up. "There's been a fundamental change to the rules."

"Which rules?"

"The fundamental ones," Castiel said. 

"Well, gravity's still here Cas so maybe you can narrow it down for us a little," Dean said.

"I will. Try."

"Are you going to want the chicken and waffles as well, babe?" The waitress said, setting down the coffee. 

"No he'll have the waffled French toast, extra bacon no eggs," Dean said, not looking up. Then going slightly still, brow furrowing.

Sam watched the waitress leave. "Since when do you order for-" he started, and turned his head. "Since when do you eat?"

 

"I don't know how much more clearly I can make the fact the rules have changed. I have already told you the rules have changed," Castiel said. 

"What sort of fundamental rules changing mean I know your usual order?"

Castiel tilted his head. "What is the last thing you recall, Dean?"

"We were…" Dean shut his eyes. Took a deep breath in. "You and I were.. Somewhere?"

"Ah. I see. You don't recall."

"What are we not remembering," Sam said. "And what does it have to do with lacrosse?"

 

*****

Werewolves didn't have allergies.

In theory.

Mostly.

Actually what werewolves had instead of normal allergies was a sort of laundry list of strange aversions (Bath's were out, showers and pools were in), compulsive reactions to things (Mountain ash in circles mixed with belief, for fucks sake) and a hyper allergic reaction to wolfsbane, all forms.

And it was spring, the little purple flowers where everywhere, so yes...

Derek had a head ache, and slightly puffy eyes, and a slightly nasal tone to his voice because his sinuses had swollen shut in self defense.

"Are you okay?" And that was Scott, because Scott was always concerned, about everyone. "You sound like you have a cold-"

"No it's just," Derek waved a hand. "It'll pass."

"Here I have something for that," Stiles half slung his pack off his shoulder and seemed to try to disappear into it. "I have a thing for just this purpose-"He fell a little behind as the three of them walked.

"It won't work on me," Derek said, waved a hand. "Did the Argents have anything on how they deal with an alpha pARGHH-" pain lanced down his shoulder, numbed his arm. He half spun, snarling, and the only thing there was Stiles, holding his hands up. And it wasn't an arrow in his shoulder it was...

A screwdriver?

"Triggering the healing reaction?"

Derek stared.

In theory Stiles should be a slightly greasy blood smear on forest floor, or at least cringing backwards while Scott got in the goddamn way, but it wasn't happening.

Derek just.. Stared at the thing.

"This is my only jacket," he said, finally, because it WAS. He could feel himself trying to heal around the probably dirty metal. 

"Hey, you're sounding better already!" Stiles said. Scott nodded quickly, and caught the back of Stiles' jacket when the motor mouth started to move forward.

"Did you sharpen it?"

"Yeah, cause, see our school has a zero tolerance knife policy but we're allowed screw drivers for some stupid reason and-"

"It's a shiv. I'm amazed it's not a toothbrush."

"Why do you only have one jacket?"

"It's leather," Derek said, like that explained anything, and when he had two blank looks aimed at him he shrugged. it made the screwdriver shift, and he hissed, finally yanking it out. "You only need one leather jacket they last forever. This one was my older brothers."

"Holy shit, we got voluntary personal information," Stiles said, before flinching because the Derek Hale method of shiv return was to lob it handle first at Stiles' chest. "Hey you could hurt a guy with that!"

"What else is in there?" Scott asked, leaning in as Stiles tucked the not-at-all-a-weapon 'first aid device' into the backpack. 

"You know. Stuff," Stiles said. "Some matches and hand sanitizer, and did you know there's about sixty different species of wolvesbane?"

Scott was suddenly a lot less interested in what was in the bag. "What?"

"You can buy them on Ebay! Seeds, leaves, dried flowers for love spells. Not that I did any love spells, I mean, not, recently. Not since I found out that one might WORK."

" _Love_ spells aren't real," Derek said. "Heart's aren't that easy. Stop trying anyway you don't know what you'll do by accident."

"See- wait does that mean other spells are?" Stiles paused, frozen in the act of pulling out a black zippered binder. "So magic's real?"

There was silence.

Derek finally broken it. "You're.. Asking a werewolf.. if he believes in magic?"

"Aaaannnyway back to this!" Stiles held the binder up, triumphant. "A picture and written description of the scent of fifty three different species and sub species of wolves bane. In case of crazy hunters. Well, more crazy hunters. Hey do they just hunt werewolves? Is it like a population control thing or do they hunt, you know, whatever? Wendingo's and the jersey devil and vampires? Are there vampires should I be growing garlic in the garden next to the wolvesbane?"

"Don't be silly," Scott started. 

"Garlic doesn't work on vampires," Derek said, and realizing he was back in the metaphorical spotlight he sighed, and looked up. "North American Vampires," and his tone took on the ever so slightly rhythmic quality of someone reciting something learned in primary school . "All live in Canada, mostly, above or below a certain longitude. They sleep all day and hunt at night, they are not strong, but they are quick, any blood will do, the Jewish one's drink milk-"

"Jewish vampires?" Stiles started but Scott elbowed him.

"And it's basically a long life of staying inside on sunny days and not giving a shit how cold it is. Okay? Can we drop it now?"

"No, we can't! What do you mean they drink milk?"

"They. Drink. Milk. Well the kosher one's do the reformed ones generally eat well cooked blood sausage."

Stiles frowned. "So crosses probably don't work?"

"Crosses are supposed to work," Scott said. 

"If they're still practicing Judaism, then religious symbols probably don't work!" Stiles said. "Oh, unless crosses do work in which case that'd sorta be a definitive answer on the whole 'who got it right' debate that's behind, you know, like, every war. What do practicing Muslim vampires do?"

"How should I know?" Derek said.

"That's sort of insensitive."

"I don't know any! I've never have to arrange a meal for Muslim vampires!"

"When did you ever have to arrange a meal for Jewish vampires? Do you even eat?" Stilies said. "I have never seen you eat!"

"It's not comfortable," Scott said. "To eat while someone's watching I don't know why. I mostly ignore it."

"Ah..." Stilies trailed of... "I also need to use one of you for experiments, so we can identify which wolfsbane causes what sort of poisoning. So whenever you're free, Derek I can start to catalogue that?" 

Derek started walking, in the vague hopes no one would follow him. He was disappointed, but not surprised, when this failed to work. 

"I'd only stick you with a little? On your hand! And I'd have the burnt stuff all ready, and then I'll take a picture of the way it turns your skin black and then in goes the ash and we'd give you a minute and go on to the next one. It'd be all scientific."

"... Use Scott."

"No! That'd be terrible!"

Derek told himself later he wasn't running away, he was just, leaving too fast for the little crazy bastard to follow.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is a genius, and the fact no one understands this is a tragedy, at least to him.
> 
> Castiel can't speak any more simply, Dean, keep up.
> 
> Lacrosse is awesome.
> 
> Everyone loves Bacon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sort of assuming that more people know Teen Wolf and Supernatural than Grimm.
> 
> It's a shame, Grimm's pretty fun if very procedural. 
> 
> Anyway there's a sort of 'Grimm Cliff Notes' at the bottom of this chapter, or you can skim the wiki.
> 
> Still looking for a beta.

*********

"Yeah okay it sounds like something up your alley but why are you here?" Monroe said, looking up from the files. 

On one hand, it was nice to see Nick in a good mood.

On the other hand Nick had so far never once shown up without wanting something. Needing something. 

It was always, well, almost always something that Monroe was willing to give more or less willingly, lives were usually in danger and hey, Nick had done him several solids starting with not killing him. Playing ambassador wasn't that bad. Playing muscle was a little weirder. That thing with the sheep had been sort of awful.

"Got any plans for the next week or so?"

"Oh, I'm not gonna like this, am I?" Monroe said. "No, look, I've got tickets for a nice yoga retreat, alright? Non-refundable. Gonna be out of town, so no staking out anyone, or anything like that, okay? Sorry, but no."

"What do you have to be back for that? It's not that far. We could leave tonight, be back in three days I just want to take a look."

"It's, uh tomorrow," Monroe said, but his eyes had already flicked to his calendar.

Nick looked at it. 

"The yoga retreat's in Beacon Hills? The place where all this, weird stuff's been happening?"

Monroe moaned. "No, it's PAST Beacon Hill's, on the 101," he said. "See? Four exits past Beacon Hills. Tiny town."

"I'll pay for the hotel room?" Nick wheedled.

"Rooms. I'm not sharing with you."

 

********* 

 

"Smell these."

Scott was famous for asking someone obvious questions. What people didn't give him credit for was that he did, occasionally, learn from his mistakes.

So when Stiles walked in smelling oddly of meat, holding out a bag demanding his smell it...

Scott pulled his textbook up a little higher in self defense. "Smell... What?"

Stiles rolled his eyes and upended the bag onto the bed.

There were a variety of meat and meat... based things on the bed.

Nothing wet and glistening.

But still. Meat.

Scott looked at them, then at Stiles.

Stiles also had books under his arm but it was only two days past the full moon and meat smells were dominating the part of his brain involved with problem solving.

"They're all organic," Stiles said. "Just try a few. Here, this is sorta supposed to be bacon like?"

"But it's not bacon?"

"No."

"So it's... What is it if it's not bacon?"

"It's bacon LIKE. Look I didn't expect this level of pickiness from a guy that ate a rabbit. Just try it."

Scott sniffed it, instead. "Smells like.. Meat? Also that rabbit totally counted as organic."

"There's probably meat in this! Just eat!"

"... This is a dog treat," Scott said. "I do not care what it looks like. I'm not eating a dog treat. You'd better not have a rawhide chew in there." He sniffed. "You do don't you?"

"I'm trying to flesh out my were-kit," Stiles said. "I managed to take a can of my dad's mace, and I have this rawhide twist and a few pigs ears, and I need a few treats."

Scott shook his head. "Treats? Why are you even, I can get my own treats!"

"They taste better when you've earned them," Stiles said, firmly, bagging them back up. "You might like them better when you're all wolfing out and stuff. Anyway, half human, half wolf that's basically a dog, right so I figured... Undisciplined dogs attack people, new werewolves attack people, so.. Let's train them?"

"This... Is this the dog whisperers book?"

"I got that for Derek. Hey, it's all about how to be the alpha dog!"

 

*********

"Look anytime someone's mauled to death by a werewolf, it brings the heat down on everyone in the pack," Stiles said, and attempted to set his jaw.

This is almost impossible to do while you're talking, unless you're willing to talk through your teeth.

Stiles wasn't willing to do that. That would require an ability to keep a few muscles still.

Derek always found himself slightly hypnotized watching Stiles talk. It was a performance. No, not a performance, it was animated. Yes, animated was the right word, too, Stiles moved like an old Tex Avery cartoon. All eyebrows as hand gestures and lips pulling to the right, pursing, exposing teeth, rolling eyes and expressive spine. 

"You got a point?" Derek asked when the conversation lulled. Short over, roll credits.

"I'm going to help you train your beta's," Stiles said. "Duh. look, I brought treats, whistles, tennis balls and this," he kicked the pressure washer. "Cause I didn't think a hose would be high powered enough, and I can't afford that may fire extinguishers. Where can I hook this up, by the way?"

Derek looked at it. There was a extension chord with duct tape on it, and the pressure washer was battered red, chipped pain. The hose looked new. "You bought a hose?"

"I'd say pay me back but, come on, you're basically a hobo," Stiles said. 

Derek arched an eyebrow at Stiles, because being in a room with the brat… It was like he used up all the language, like there was nothing in English left for Derek to try to communicate with.

"Hey unless you've got a little stash of leprechaun gold? Somewhere? They're still just myths, right? Leprechauns?"

"There's a lot of.. Old world spirits and shape shifters," Derek said. "So. Maybe, but something like that wouldn't be native to the area. It wouldn't.. Thrive here at all."

"But werewolves do?"

"If a human can live there, a shapeshifter that's mostly human can live there," Derek said. "If they have any self control at all, or even just the presence of mind to lock themselves in somewhere secure. Other things are… Less human, you understand?"

"So.. That's a maybe on the leprechauns, then?"

"That's a maybe. I've never been to Europe, I don't know what's there."

"Is that more personal information?" Stiles said. "I mean it's not exactly revolutionary, I've never been to Europe and that's not that personal a piece of information I've never been to a lot of places, like, Mexico. Never been there, never been too Canada, never been to. Oh… Peru, Argentina, Brazil."

Derek leaned back and watched the show start again. Stiles was wearing the red hoody. Probably his favorite, even dirty like it was now, too long, worn at the wrists. 

It was old enough he knew that Stiles hadn't bought it after they met, he'd just… Happened to own a red hoodie. Red running hood.

Derek snorted, and it seemed to be in time enough with the conversation that he didn't try to tune in, Turning instead to try to locate a place to connect the hose, because otherwise Stiles would go and look for it and get bitten by a rabid raccoon or something else terrible would happen and Derek would have to deal with it.

"Why do you smell like-" and he was cut off because shrill, painful noise filled his entire head. He was clutching at his ears, feeling them lengthen but that just made it worse and he snarled and-

And it was done, he turned, heart racing and Stiles smelled guilty as hell while he shoved a fist into his pocket. "I just wanted to see if it worked."

"Do it again, and I shove it up your nose."

"But then it'd whistle everytime I took a breath."

"Guess what my next move would be then?" Derek said. 

"Call nine-one-one and get it removed, hoping I don't press charges?"

"I'd like to see you explain that to your dad," Derek said, and it was spot on honest. Stiles lying at top speed was like squirrels on speed. "You might do that thing where your shoulder's move in time with your eyebrows."

Not like he gave squirrels speed. Anymore. He'd been young. It had made them more fun to catch.

"My shoulder's don't move in time with my eyebrows!"

Derek just looked at him.

"Well yours do the opposite!" Stiles said. "Like right now, you're raising them at me but your shoulders are dropping." He went to his duffle bag, dug in.

Derek's mouth started to water almost before his brain told him what he was inhaling. He asked what it was anyway.

Stiles told him.

Derek swallowed. "How'd you get it so… How did I not smell that?"

"I wrapped it up in six layers of plastic wrap," Stiles said. "And then I put THAT in a ziploc. Which I put in another ziplock that I stuffed with mint leaves. then I rinsed the whole thing with rubbing alcohol. And whiskey. Did it work?"

"Why are you trying to smuggle things past me?" Derek said. "Why bacon?"

"Because bacon reeks," Stiles said. "Because I need to know HOW other people can get things past you, s o I know how to look for things like triple wrapped packaged that smell like hand sanitizer. Do you understand? Because if I can figure it out them someone could make a, a, a fire bomb stuffed with wolves bane and monks hood. you know. AGAIN."

Derek didn't flinch.

"Sorry. I mean, it's just…" Stiles tossed Derek a piece of bacon. "I don't wanna be surprised anymore. I need you to tell me what else is out there, so I can.. Dude that's not cooked."

"It's still bacon," Derek said, swallowing. 

"Can werewolves catch worms?"

"Pills for that."

"Oh. God. Oh god, not that's. No." Stiles managed to flail for a full minute with only his face.

Derek reached over, took another slice, and ate that too without looking away from the show. 

Stiles' nose wrinkled up, and he backed away. "That's gross, you're gross, I shouldn't be surprised that you're gross but you're just a, ugh, I mean. UGH."

"Why did you bring it if it wasn't a snack?" Derek said. 

"To see if a werewolf that was all wolfing out would go for that instead of trying to bite me," Stiles said. "I guess it works?"

"I'm not gonna bite you."

"Not while there's tasty bacon available! See, it's brilliant!" Stiles said. "Do you only eat raw meat?"

"No," Derek said. "But I can digest it pretty easily. So you're… Doing this to be proactive?"

"Yes."

"That includes helping me with beta training?"

"Scott's mom's got a flu," Stiles said. "And yeah, it does. Getting you all ready and being a pack, cause you've obviously got confused ideas about what makes a pack and-"

"What?"

"You do, you think you're a pack cause you're the alpha and you bit them and you think that's all the more connection you need. You're an idiot. If being responsible for someone's existence made you family, Scott's dad'd be around."

Derek felt cool air on his tongue because his mouth had opened, but he didn’t know what to say, so he shut it. 

"Now, come on," Stiles said. "Let's see if this works. Might wanna get earplugs I'm going to use the whistle a lot."

 

******

"What do you mean when you say.. Pick a fundamental rule that's changed. Give me an idea," Dean said. "Down still seems to be down, what's actually different, what are we not remembering? Aside from the Georgia pines on the west coast."

Cas looked up from breaking the last piece of bacon into innumerable pieces and arranging them on a layer of butter, on top of the French toast. "It is hard to explain," he said finally. "I can feel the change, and I know it is there, and when I see a specific example," he turned his head. "It's a full moon."

"So?"

"So that man outside who has just pried open the trunk of your car is a werewolf," Cas said. "But he's human. And in Control and-"

"My car!" Dean said, turning in his seat, eyes narrowing. "Oh that son of a bitch."

Cas watched the brothers leave, and put the second pieces of french toast on top of the first, before soaking the whole thing in maple syrup and starting to dissect it with two knives. "And if you had listened, Dean," he told the empty space where the man had been. "I would have told you that he seems to be capable of prying open the trunk of the impala with his bare hands, while still looking and behaving in a human way." He glanced out the window. "Something that would have been invaluable for you to know, before you took a swing at him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All you REALLY need to know about Grimm for the purpose of understanding this is as follows-  
> Nick is a Grimm. Grimms can see when wesen shift.
> 
> Wesen= any supernatural anything. were wolves and were coyotes and so forth. 
> 
> Normal people can't see when wesen shift. This isn't going to be important. Grimm's get a genetic bad ass booster, and his family left him a trailer full of weapons.
> 
> Think of the trailer like a bit, shiny version of Johns notebook from the first season of Supernatural. Nick went into the thing every five minutes and found the exact thing he needed in several generations of Grimm notes. 
> 
> Monroe's a blublad, basically a werewolf with a few different rules from Teen Wolf. 
> 
> In Grimm, werewolf society is more expansive, less individual packs, ad sort of like being in a motorcycle gang. Sort of.
> 
> Monroe's gone vegan, and generally treats his 'lets eat people' days the way a recovering alcoholic treats his binge drinking days. 
> 
> Nick's a cop, and put that ahead of his ancestral calling to just kill em all.
> 
> EDIT: [Yersinia_pestis](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Yersinia_pestis/pseuds/Yersinia_pestis) had the following to say- . _And there seems to be some confusion in Grimm fandom in general: the terms for the supernatural in that series are (bastardized) german, so for example the werewolves are called 'Blutbad' or 'Blutbaden' in plural, which translates roughly to 'bloodbath(s)'. The supernatural beings in general are called 'Wesen' which just means 'beings', with a supernatural connotation to it._


	3. The nose knows, and other cliches.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adaptation is a survival trait.

*****

Derek watched the 'training' session.

Even with earmuffs the whistle was loud and awful but..

It was working. between the whistle, the hose, and Stiles tossing chunks of bacon around…. They were calming down. he could smell it from here, scent edging into the blue and cedar territory of.. Enjoyment. They were having fun. Like puppies.

It was working. Erica was pretty much fully herself, but letting instinct take over as long as Stiles kept playing frisbee with her.

 _And_ he'd brought a lot of frisbee's, Derek noted. How much had the idiot spent on this? What did bacon even cost by the pound?

Against what he felt was better judgment, he fished a few twenties out of his wallet and dropped them into the open mouth of Stiles' backpack. The spaz would find them later.  
******

 

Oh, now there were two men out there, hitting Sam and Dean.

Cas didn't have to look to know this, but he did anyway. A human and a werewolf. Huh. 

He hummed, trying to get a better idea of who they were, their stories. Fundamental rule change, again. So very odd. Tried to flicker backwards in time, just to see how long they'd been there, but..

Hm. No, stationary in time now.

Strange.

Could he still halt time?

Ah. Yes. That was acceptable then. To be utterly at the mercy of time forward progress was less than ideal.

Dean was frozen in the air like a dying rodeo clown.

Cas chewed thoughtfully.

Slowly.

Time was frozen. About twenty minutes did not pass while he ate. Then he took the bacon off Sam's plate, and drank a pitcher of grapefruit juice before leaving some money on the table and walking out, trying to get syrup off his fingers.

Dean still hung in the air. 

Cas took a moment to assess, and then reached out. Spun him around, tucked his chin down. Made certain Dean's neck wouldn't be snapped on impact, and then pushed him sideways in the air until he'd hit the grass. Instead of a tree.

Then he went and calmly took all the shells out of the not-a-werewolf's shotgun. Chris. Chris Argent. Cas made a mental note, and put the man's wallet back.

The other man had no ID. No wallet either. About fifty dollars cash, which Cas tucked in Dean's back pocket.

Then, satistfied, Cas backed away. Let time grab them again.

Dean rolled, cursing.

Sam still got punched in the face.

Cas just stuck his hands in his packets and waited. 

Argent turned, pointing the gun at his head but… Then the man was looking disconcerted. Well. It was a lighter weapon now.

"I do not suppose an appeal for calm would work?" He asked, squinting up at the sky. Well, his body did. From this angle he could look out his vessels ears and nose as well and see everything much more clearly.

"Where did you come from-" Argent started. 

The other one, the one that Castiel didn't have a name for yet, put his hands up, backing up. "I'm all for an appealing calm," he said, smiling. Then turning his head. "If he took the bullets from your gun, darling, then he'll have gotten whatever you had in your pockets."

Chris Argent seemed to have figured this out, patting down his jacket. His eye twitched at Darling.

Cas made a note of that. He was getting better at mapping out emotions now. He had practice.

"You pack like hunters," Chris said, finally, head tilting at the open trunk of the impala, all but overflowing with weaponry and batter books. Bags of salt and jugs of water. 

"Homeless hunters," the man with his hands up said, smiling. The smile did not reach his eyes. "What? I call it like I see it. What are you?" His nose wrinkled. 

"This one of those fundamental rule changes, Cas? Couldn't have mentioned this before we came out here and got our asses kicked by werewolves?" Dean said. 

"You did not let me finish," Cas said. "This is Christopher Argent. He is a human. This one is not a human. These two are Sam and Dean, they are brothers. We are not adjusting well to the rule shift and apologize for the inconvenience. "

Now to see if teleportation still worked.

Ah. Good.  
******

 

Chris looked at the vacant space where the car had been. "I really hate homegrown hunters."

"You and me both. Any idea what that third guy was?"

"None. You?"

"Aside from sleeping with the short one, none."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dramatic music here.


	4. Gunter glieben glauchen globen

"What the hell is going on?"

"I don't know," Sam said. Frowned. "The hell."

"What?"

"The internet's just really slow, today."

"Should I go bitch at the front desk?"

"I already asked they say it's working… fine it's just…" Sam scowled. "The little thing's only one bar. I can usually get that in a library parking lot at night."

"What's Argent bringing up?"

"It's a last name. not. Super common. A Katlyen Argent was found dead about five months ago," Sam said. "But the page is loading…"

They sat in absolute silence. For five minutes.

"Arrrrgh, this is just the obituary, not any details."

"You could try the Starbucks," Cas said, from his position on the floor, fingers laced on his belly. "Since a not insignifigent portion of their profits come from beverages bought to assuage randomized guilt from using their internet."

"That's… True," Sam said. "But how do you know?"

"Yeah that's like, four things there I didn't think you quite understood," Dean said. 

"For the last year teaching me to better blend with other human's has been a bit of a pet project for you," Cas said. 

"I don't remember any of that," Dean said, frowning. 

"I am aware of this," Cas said.

Sam looked up, frowning. "Wait, Cas, what are you leaving out?"

"There is nothing urgent to inform you of," Cas said. "At the time of the rule change, you were not involved in the hunt of so much as an outhouse poltergeist."

"In a year, nothing important happened?" Sam asked. That seemed.. Unlikely. Hell even in college when he thought he'd been free of all this, insanity living a lie important things had happened. Student loan's, relationships, a teacher that had been caught screwing a student..

"Nothing urgent happened," Cas corrected him. "Important things happened, no one died." He hesitated. "Well, millions died but that happens every day. No one died who's…" he halted, starting to pick his words with exaggerated care. "People who mattered.. Passed away, but they were not people who mattered to.. You. Except you take all of them personally… Give me a moment." He Frowned at the ceiling, eyebrows knitting together. "The world was at no point in the last year in serious danger of ending from anything other than political unrest triggering nuclear Armageddon." He looked up. Smiled. "Does that answer your question?"

"No, that was avoiding answering the question," Dean said. "When did you learn that instead of just saying it wasn't our concern? Did I teach you that? What that what Sammy and I did for a year, teach you to act like a person?"

"No, just you," Cas said. 

"And when did I decide to devote my time to that?"

"You like to talk after sex."

There was a sputtering noise from Sam as Pepsi tried to exit his head via his ears.

There was silence in the room.

Dean took a deep breath.

And Cas froze time. Even angels can be cowards.

 

********  
Lydia frowned.

And looked up.

It was, actually sort of pretty, all the droplets of water hanging in the air like that. Like that music video. 

It was also strange.

She reached a hand up, and scooped the droplets like they were beads on a table top.

They hit her skin and ran down her arm, a little sluggishly.

She felt that this should be stranger that it was, but she was dating a werewolf that had been a lizard less than a month ago, so maybe the fact that water decided to disobey both gravity AND inertia at the same time…

She stepped out of the shower, glad her hair was rinsed out.

Oh. The clock had stopped. So had the bird song.

She dried off and got dressed. Okay. Time was standing still.

No idea what had stopped it, of if this was real outside of her head.

It was probably real. 

Hair dryer didn't work. Frozen time. Even electrons? But she was breathing fine. Hm.

She braided her hair, instead. She'd have to take another shower, later, this wouldn't do. At all. 

There was a bird in flight outside. 

She shouldered her bag and didn't try the car, just started walking. 

A less sensible person might have started trying to get up to mischief. Or testing things.

She treated the world like it was going to start moving again, and headed to the school. If nothing else, the rest of the wolf pack would be there, Jackson, and that other one. 

Stiles. The nervous smart one that actually seemed capable of following the logical chain of events that would result from an action.

Lydia wanted to call him little but that wasn't right, was it? He wasn't short, he just dressed in clothes that he seemed to expect to grow into, and he wasn't scrawny he just stood next to people like Jackson and Scott while wrapped in those too-big sweatshirts. 

She checked her phone. It still wasn't responding, but it had been plugged in.

Hell it had been her alarm clock.

She got to an intersection and took a moment to see what lights were red, then walked back down the road to jaywalk. Main road, that'd be where she'd see life start back up again.

She was walking past a Starbucks when she saw movement.

Someone in a coat was plugging a lap top in. She stood still, and watched. 

The man plugged the laptop in, set it on the table in front of man who's face looked frozen in mid sneeze. Then he went to the counter, hopped over it, and made. Something. She couldn't see without moving, and didn't want to scare the guy off.

It was still steaming when he set it next to sneezy's hand.

And then he vanished.

And in between one blink and the next…

Time restarted.

Lydia checked her phone. Well, it was a Saturday, she didn't need to be anywhere for an hour…

Better keep an eye on sneezy...  
********

 

Stiles had slept in.

He'd spent all Saturday night throwing toys for werewolves, alright? From around eight in the evening till sunrise, because by then he'd been starting to list to starboard and Derek had said something to Issac, and then Stiles had been getting dropped onto his bed shoes and all. 

He'd woken up just enough to tell Issac not to go through the garden and kick off his shoes.

He was awake now, though.

"It's a personal curiosity," someone was saying. "It's just, been a strange few months here, hasn't it? I mean you must have noticed."

"I have," and that was his dad, talking to someone else who was asking questions. no, wait. Asking. Questions. Yes. That added gravitas. There was someone Asking Questions about how fucking weird this town was. 

Which on one had was good, cause, for fucks sake why weren't people asking MORE questions? There should be enquirer reporters out the ass, people kept getting eaten by WOLVES. WOLVES. In Northern California! If nothing else there should be a national geographic van parked in the middle of the forest loaded with tranq guns and collars. Did Tranq's work on werewolves? Lizard venom had but that had been, you know, magical lizard venom.

Stiles rolled out of bed and fumbled for his notebook. 'Test Tranqs on Derek' he scribbled out. Did roofies work? 'And… Roofies' he added.

Then he was going down the stairs as quiiietly as possible to eavesdrop on whatever was going on. His dad was telling them about the Hale fire, now. How many skeleton's were going to pop out of that damn place anyway? Wait, no, he could do the math on this one. There were eleven, right? Well, okaay, they all seemed to be pretty good at, you know, staying dead. so far only Laura and Peter had stirred up shit. That was good, right? Hell if he knew.

Ah, dad had gotten to Laura, and now Kate, and… Okay yeah that was pretty caught up on that whole mess.

He leaaaannned over, trying to get a look at Mr. Intelligent.

Clean cut, black hair, friendly smile, arm in a cast. Okay. 

"Have you had anyone new move into town?"

"Yeah, a few. Derek, Like I told you. he was originally a suspect in his sister's death but, well, look if you swing by the station later you can go over the files."

"He was a suspect?"

"Found her body behind the Hale house, buried there. well, half of her, but she'd been torn in half by animals," there was a pause, and Stiles could see his dad shrugging. "Derek did bury her there, so there's some charges pending to do with body disposal but… That's it for him. He's got a history of being in a the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Derek Hale," the man repeated. "What sort of animals?"

"Wolf."

"That happen often here?"

"It's what they said the hair was from."

"Ever catch it?"

"No, animal control never caught it,' and there was a beat of silence before, "Now, Nick, I know you're not here on official business. Arm in a cast like that, medical leave, right?"

"It was take a vacation or ride a desk," the man, Nick, admitted. "And I didn't say it was official. I just, I had all this free time and I heard about-"

"You heard about the weird things here, right? The murders and the general mayhem? I hear about weird things too and right now it sounds like Portland's got some strange things going on. All I ask if you keep me in the loop, don't mess up my evidence chains, and leave the original's in the station, whatever you're digging into, alright?"

"I can absolutely do that," Nick, said. "Thank you for tolerating my nosiness."

"If you want to ask people questions, that's fine, you make sure you start off by saying you're a cop, and that it's not official business, or I'll make sure the resulting mess ends up on your record, not mine. Got it?" His dad sounded tired. "I know there's something else going on here, I just, I'm not seeing it and I can't justify going over everything in these closed files because of a hunch. So knock yourself out."

Stiles fumbled, trying to get out his phone before realizing it was still in his room. Dammit. He wanted a picture of this Nick. Maybe a last name. Something to look up. Nick, a cop from Portland. Strange things happening. He could probably work with that? Yeah, he could totally work with that. 

Because a cop with too much free time asking that sort of question… The right sort, really.

Well that was sort of worth mentioning.  
****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because Chris and Peter tooling around trying to keep everything from blowing up seems. Right.


	5. Out along the edges, Always where I burn to be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: this was all written before season three of Teen Wolf.
> 
> So... I tried to stay canon compliant with the first two seasons but season three killer off ((SPOILER)) someone I don't want to see dead.
> 
> So the Alpha pack is ALL people I made up.
> 
> I just wanted that to be clear.
> 
> (Also I've watched Supernatural on Netflix, so up to season seven is what Cas recalls. FOR THOSE KEEPING SCORE AT HOME)
> 
> Also I would like a beta reader/someone to just skim what I have for low pressure feedback.

****

"Fast is one thing," Peter said, frowning at the laptop screen. "That wasn't actually fast, what that thing did."

"No wind?"

"Nooo wind," Peter said, nodded. "Also the fact that guy who was about to eat pavement landed on his rear on the grass, which is either teleportation or divine intervention."

Chris slid the mug of coffee to him, and Peter took it without looking.

"Ghost?"

"In daylight, that can talk, that is friendly to two humans," Peter said. "Yeeeah. That sounds just like a ghost I'll get right on that."

"I know there's runes for speed that.. Might explain the lack of wind," Chris said, pretending he hadn't heard Peter. Sitting down, flipping open his own computer. 

"He wasn't human. didn't smell human, not really," Peter said. 

"But you don't know what he smelled like?"

"I know what he smelled like, but I don't have anything to compare it too, and I don't know how to explain it to your little pathetic excuse for a scent organ," Peter said, reached out and attempting to bop the other man on the nose, getting his hand batted away. 

*********

 

"I just don't know why he'd lie like that!" Dean was pacing too fast in too small a face. His legs kept hitting the chair. 

Sam hadn't minded being in that Starbucks. He'd sort of liked the part where he didn't have to listen to this. He wasn't really listening to it now, honestly, just sitting there thinking about sex.

Well, not, sex sex, he wasn't thinking about having sex just. Women he'd slept with, and women Dean had slept with. The way Dean acted in general. He didn't think of Dean as gay in the same way he didn't think of Dean as straight. Dean was his brother and what he did didn't, you know, involved him except in those scary ass stories he was careful not to read, ever. Ever. 

He followed Dean's movements with his head, not really listening now. Dean was on repeat, alternating between reaffirming his heterosexuality and trying to figure out why Cas was telling this story, because it was a story, right, obviously.

"What possible angle could he have, saying that I, that we, I mean," he trailed off on a stammer. "I'm not, you know, like that, not that there's anything wrong with that but c'mon you know I love the ladies, right?"

More pacing.

Dean had been doing this, variations on this, for a few hours. It was mid afternoon now, and Sam wondered at what point Dean'd just take off out the door hunting for strippers.   
Or demons. Or stripper demons.

"Have you ever noticed that the women we sleep with all end up dead?" Sam asked. 

"What? No, that's not-" Dean stopped, looking at the corner of ceiling and walls. Going down a mental list. "Huh… Look that's just… that's not the point."

"Maybe you could just tell yourself it's a sort of… Loophole?"

"What?"

"Yeah you know. It's not gay if it's a three way. One of those rules. Anything alive before god said let there be light doesn't count either?"

"First off, it is gay if it's a three way and your balls touch, everyone knows that, secondly, that's not the point, the point is not if it's gay that I slept with him, it's that I did not sleep with him!"

"That you remember," Sam said. "I think you hurt his feelings, by the way."

"How do you know?"

"Well, he's not here, for starters and you've said his name about fifty times," Sam said. "Usually that activates your _'special bond'_ , and he sort of, you know. Shows up right behind you, with that look in his eyes. Even you've said it's a bedroom stare."

"It's just because he's bad at facial muscles!" Dean said. "He doesn't actually want to be gay with me!"

"Even Balthazar says he's in love with you," Sam pointed out. "Look I'm just saying.. it wouldn't surprise me if you were. You know, with him. Not in general."

"One, Balthazar's a dick. And two, Cas's not in love with me!"

"Did he say that?"

"I'm not gay!"

"He might be?"

"He can't be gay either angels aren't supposed to have gender!"

"Soo if they don't have gender how is it-"

"Shut up Sammy!"

"Considering all the shit he's been through for us maybe you owe him -" Sam managed to deflect the ash tray. "I was gonna say the benefit of the doubt!"

"Just shut up!" Dean said. 

"How long did you two talk? I was at that Starbucks for like.. Hours. I'd have stayed longer but our credit cards don't work here and I'm out of cash," Same said. 

"I.. Not very long. I think he knocked me out," Dean said. "I mean I was on the bed when you opened the door, right?"

"Think he roofied you?"

Dean didn't yell, just whipped around, pointing while a vein danced in his neck. 

"I know, I know. Shutting up," Sam said. 

*********

 

"How was the first day of the yoga thing?" Nick asked, shoulder hunched up.

"Oh, you mean the yoga thing that I missed the first half of the first day of?" Nick said. "That one? the one you'll make up to me?"  
Nick privately wondered if what Monroe got out of this occasional arrangement was the ability to complain at a Grimm and tell the tale. Or maybe just the opportunity to complain, period. "Yeah that's the one."

"It was great, at least, the part I saw was great but you know how hard it is to get into a panel if you're not there early?" 

"Can you come by the sheriff's station?"

"In about three hours," Monroe said, with a groan. 

"Alright. There's, fresh paint, in a lot of places, apparently there was a shoot out? Serious one, too, spackle and a memorial for the dead, I tried to ask about it, but it's still a pretty sore point, if you know what I mean," Nick said.

"Oh, hey, even cops don't like it when you pry. Big surprise!"

"Actually the sheriff seemed.. Relieved to see me?" Nick said. "It's like. He knows something weird's going on, but he can't pursue it?"

"Going all Commissioner Gordon on you?"

"I didn't think you watched movies."

"Who said anything about the movies? Hey maybe next time you can vanish as soon as he turns his back on you that's always fun!"

"Think about that analogy. What does that make you, boy wonder?"

"Hey, the first one grows up okay it's the odd numbers you have to watch out for."

"I don't even know what that means, but, okay. Just. Pretend I understood and if you can get here? I'm making copies of some of these files but I just… Walk around town or something, tell me if you see any Vesen." he paused, frowned. "And can you tell me if there's any… What would you not be able to photograph?"

"Can you be more clear? Cause there's a few things-"

"It looks like serious lens flare but it's coming off this guys face. Maybe the eyes. They don't have a good picture of this guy even though they had him in custody."

"I.. There's a few with semi reflective eyes?"

"Well, I guess I'll go look into this Derek Hale, see what he is-"

"Wait, his last name is Hale?"

"You know him?"

"Oh man, you gotta let me go with you to meet him!"

"Wait, what is he?"

"If he's one of the real Hales?" Monroe sounded excited, now. "Like a actual Hale?"

"What. Is. He?"

"He's a werewolf!"

"You mean a bludbad like you?"

"No, I mean an actual old school follow the curse to the alpha wolf pack dynamics old world old school verewulfs. The Hale's are an old pack, I didn't know they even had anyone here in the states! Oh, oh, that means there are keepers here too?! That's amazing!"

"Are they like the royals?"

"No, not, really. It's almost a legend, never thought I'd meet one, I mean they're sort of elusive and the keepers, they're like. Grimm trained without being Grimms, right? They just know the signs."

"I.. Have never read about them. Never heard about this, are they Grimm allies or-"

"I don't know, we'll get to ask!"

"Well… Merry Christmas, then, I guess."  
************

 

Cas wondered if he'd made a serious tactical error.

Every ten minutes or so, like a gnat in his ear, Dean was calling his name. Well, saying it, combined with emotion, which, at this point, between the two of them, was very much like a prayer. Sometimes it was angry, sometimes it was hurt, sometimes it was just confused.

It was random snippets of conversation between Dean and his brother, and then, when Sam left, Dean and the wall.

Cas sat, and listened. 

Because, he suspected, he was a bit of a masochist, he listened. 

Dean was cycling through a strange stage of acceptance where he was agreeing that sex probably had happened, but one, had to be demons, and two, didn't count just cause, and three, was Dean's fault.

Cas rolled the apple back and forth between his hands. It hadn't actually been an apple, it had never been an apple but apples were easier to draw than pomegranates. And something else.. it had pomegranates here. He could feel it. 

Everything was different. The world felt older, under him, for starters. Not a new and bleeding world, now it felt like the world was old, old, old as he was, life really had clawed it way out of the primordial ooze snarling and devouring itself, ooze into blood into tissue and tears and eventually belief.

There was still God, and the.. Presence was strange to have back after the aching hollow nothingness, but Cas was loath to go and say hello. 

A rule change like this meant.. Something. He didn't know if he'd been through one before. He might have.

He was billions of years old, but had he been billions of years old yesterday? The earth hadn't been this old last week.

Dean was now talking to himself in the mirror, asking what sort of fucked up broken person took advantage of an angel.

Cas breathed out in a puff of air, and when he inhaled, he was watching the line of Dean's back.

Then he was pushing the back of Dean's head until Dean's face hit the mirror.

Not hard enough to break anything. Just a hello.

"Arghshit!" Dean kicked backwards, whipped around with his gun up and put a hand to his face to see if his nose was broken.

"You were getting into dangerously illogical territory with your heterosexual panic." 

"Look, I don't know what happened or what you think happened or how you think it happened but it's not," Dean started. 

Cas gave him a bland look. "You do not remember it," he said. "That does not mean that it did not happen." 

"Cas this really isn't.. What am I supposed to do with this? You remember it that doesn't mean it did happen!"

"That's true. With the.. Rule change…" Castiel considered that. "It was real to me, and that is enough for me. I understand if that isn't enough for you."

"… Now I feel like I'm being dumped, Cas."

"I have not abandoned you yet," Castiel said. "I am not planning on starting now."

Dean stared at him. "No. you aren't, are you? You're going to Just… I… What happened with the whole war in heaven? There was. I remember that!"

"Irrelevant now. God is back. A god, at least. I have not attempted to contact it yet," Castiel watched Dean rub the bridge of his nose and groan, then toss his gun on the counter next to the tv. 

"How'd it happen?"

"How did what happen, Dean?"

"Sex. You. Me. Whatever it was."

"The first time the we engaged in sexual intercourse was by rubbing our erect penises tog-"

"That's not what I meant!" Dean yelped. "Holy _crap_ Cas, that's not what I meant!"

"You blamed Tom Cruise," Castiel said. It'd been a hotel like this one, except different. Different colors but having that same, feeling that all hotels had. "We had been. Talking more, prior to this, and you thought it was vital that I see Top Gun."

"… Tom Cruise turned me gay? Is that what you're going with?"

"You got upset when I did not understand the musical selection. I still do not understand it. A fighter jet flies. It does not need a Highway to anywhere. It can get to the Danger Zone without a highway, if the pilot wanted it to go to this Danger Zone," Castiel was frowning now. "And there was never a reason to go to the Danger Zone in the first place," and here Castiel's expression softened. "And then you kissed me."

"Was I all out of pillows to smother you with?"

"You tasted like bourbon. And you."

"So I was drunk?"

"You had been imbibing," Castiel said. "And when I asked you why, you just did it again."

"So I was drunk and pushy. Great. Crap. And then the rubbing."

Castiel thought about pointing out that Dean had just shifted from denial to self loathing but decided against it. "The rubbing was the next day. You fell asleep on top of me. The television showed Top Gun again and it did not make any more sense with the second viewing."

Dean waved a hand. "Just. Stop."

"You need time," Castiel said. "I have time. I have all the time. I can wait for you to decide again."

"And last time I decided sleeping with you was a good idea?"

"Yes. Eventually. You took time."

"And you don't mind waiting?"

"I told you. I waited before," Castiel watched Dean a moment. "I'm going to leave now. You asked once that I not just vanish so regularly. I can hear it when you use my name, I can be here if you need me."

"Just have to say your name. yeah. I know."

"Or think it."

"Just thinking it's enough?"

"I'm your angel. I'm supposed to know when you need me."


End file.
